


You'll Gems Don't Even Smoke Crack

by orphan_account



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood, Crack, Drugs, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pearl smokes crack with Mayor Dewey. It ends badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Gems Don't Even Smoke Crack

Pearl paced impatiently in the spartan waiting room.

Mayor Dewey was obviously a fan of minimalism. Or maybe a cheap bastard. Either way, the room was mostly empty. There were a few chairs stacked against the wall, their asymmetry bothering Pearl more and more every time she noticed them. A table with decades-old issues of Reader’s Digest on it. And a receptionist desk, complete with receptionist. She looked to be in her fifties, with graying hair pulled into a severe bun, and an intense expression of concentration on her face as she downloaded minion memes off Facebook and reposted them to her Tumblr.

Pearl disapproved. She cast a withering gaze across the room for the 12,032nd time that day (she always kept track of these things). You’d think a man like Mayor Dewey would put in some waterfalls or Impressionist paintings or something, maybe a petting zoo, but no.

The tall Gem walked up to the desk and put her hands on the counter. “Is he still busy?”

The receptionist nodded, intent on her shitposting.

Pearl glared and leaned down. “It’s been three hours already! What on Earth is he doing in there?”

“Well,” the receptionist responded, “it won’t matter if you wait another hour or two then.”

Pearl huffed in disapproval and walked back to her chair. Then something in her snapped. She drew herself to her full height, strode over to the door marked “DO NOT DISTURB”, shoved it open, and walked in.

The receptionist ignored the woman’s actions. Dewey didn’t pay her enough to care anyway.

—

The mayor’s office was more to Pearl’s liking. Potted plants lined the walls. There were waterfalls and pieces of Impressionist art (but no petting zoo). And… what on Earth?

Pearl crouched down next to the mayor’s imposing mahogany desk. The thing that had caught her attention turned out to be a human-sized pillow with an illustration of Pearl on it. Suspicious stains streaked its lower half.

The Gem frowned at it. She didn’t remember her tits being that big…

Then she heard a muffled groan, and she instinctively crouched into a combat position.

Pearl crept across the carpet and peered around the desk.

A futon lay behind it. A futon with Mayor Dewey on it, in his boxers, dead to the world, with a strange cylindrical object in his right hand.

Pearl gasped in horror. Not at the mayor being in some kind of trance, but at his cartoon heart-covered boxers. She didn’t think they existed outside of Steven’s cartoons. Then Dewey stirred, and she forced herself to pay attention.

“Wh’s the- oh shit! You!” He scrambled to his feet, shoved the pillow under the desk, and leaned back in his chair, trying to play it cool.

He knew he should’ve paid better attention to that call. What was it? Something about how aliens caused the blackout, and how the hot one was coming over to talk strategy? He hoped she hadn’t noticed his throbbing erection.

Pearl grit her teeth. “Yes. Me.” She drew herself to her full height and slammed her hands down on the desk. Dewey flinched. “I have been waiting that office for THREE HOURS!”

Dewey’s mind raced. She’d never go out with him now… unless…

He offered the pipe to her. “Want some?”

Pearl raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“That,” Dewey explained, “is a crack pipe. You put crack rocks in and smoke ‘e-” Pearl gave a small scream of horror. Grabbing a shirt, she shoved Dewey’s arms in the holes, buttoned it with lightning speed, then grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him in the air. His legs dangled helplessly.

“WHO WAS IT?!” she screamed. “WHO DID YOU KILL TO MAKE THIS FILTH?!”

A wet spot formed on Dewey’s crotch. He wished with all his heart that he’d stayed in bed today. “No, no!” he babbled. “You take a plant or something and grind it up then cook it and nobody has to die!”

Pearl put him down delicately. “Oh…” she replied in a small voice.

She pulled a chair up to the desk and sat down gingerly. “I’m sorry, Mayor.” she continued. “I was just waiting so long, and it’s my time of the month…”  
her voice trailed off and she began to cry.

Dewey was still somewhat rattled by the sudden turn of events, but you don’t make it far in politics without being quick on your feet.

The mayor pulled a handful of tissues out of a box on the desk and passed them to Pearl. “Here,” he said in his “in these trying times, we, the people of Beach City must be strong” voice. Normally he only brought it out for official  
occasions, but getting laid was an exception. “Take these.”

Pearl blew her nose with a loud *SNRRRK*, noticing too late that it had stabbed through the thin paper. The unfortunate mayor’s face was splattered with electric blue snot.

Pearl gave him a haunted look. Everything was going wrong today. “Oh no…” she moaned. Then she burst into tears again.

Dewey took a deep breath. “Easy, Bill,” he thought to himself. “You’ve been given an opportunity, don’t blow it.” Pulling out some more tissues, he began wiping himself off. “No,” he reassured Pearl. “It’s fine. I’ve been through worse.”  _Like two minutes ago_ , he thought.

Pearl gave him a grateful look. Drawing a shuddering breath, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

Dewey smiled. “So,” he said, “what’s this about 'that time of the month’? I thought you guys didn’t have- you know, that stuff.” Inwardly, he cursed himself. Damn his curiosity.

Fortunately, Pearl didn’t seem to be offended. “Oh, it’s not menstruation,” she responded. “It’s-” her voice lowered- “ _heat_.” She blushed.

Dewey crossed his legs. It wasn’t pleasant, as he was still damp, but at least she wouldn’t see how turned on he was.

Pearl desperately looked for a change of subject. She was NOT going into detail about her sex life with a human, of all people. Then her gaze fell on the crack pipe. “So, uh,” she began. “Tell me more about this 'crack’ of yours.”

Dewey puffed up his chest. He considered himself something of a drug connoisseur. And it wasn’t just him- he was one of the most regarded drug critics on the planet. Hell, his glowing review of the “Purple Haze” strain of marijuana in “Head” magazine had won a Pulitzer.

“All right, Miss…?”

“Pearl.” the Gem responded.

“Pearl.” Dewey continued.  "So you put the rocks in this pipe, light it up, and smoke it. Then you get high, and it feels pretty great.“ His eyes shone. "When I’m smoking crack, all my troubles just melt away. That Onion kid, people wanting me to lower taxes, all the weird stuff you protect us from- it might as well not exist.” He sighed, the lines on his forehead coming into prominence. “It’s hard being in charge.”

Pearl could see where he was coming from. She hadn’t really had to do much leading since the wars, but being a tactician weighed on you. Every death, every lost battle- it felt like it was all your fault, even if you couldn’t possibly have done anything about it. She’d coped with it through furious masturbation, but maybe this crack thing was better. Still, she had to ask.

“Is it safe?”

Dewey snorted. “What’s up with that?” he asked in an indignant tone of voice. “You’re not a coward, are you?”

The human had hit a nerve. Pearl rose from her chair and jabbed Dewey in the chest.

“Do you know,” she hissed, “what they used to call me during the war?”

Dewey coughed a few times, his face turning redder than usual. That woman didn’t know her own strength. Now, what was it that the purple one had said she liked to be called…

“Birb Mom?” he wheezed.

Pearl resisted the urge to toss Dewey out the nearest window.

“No, idiot.” she snapped. “The Angel of Death. If you lined the bodies of all the Homeworld soldiers I’ve killed from end to end, the line would reach all  
the way to your moon. Now give me that crack pipe!”

The panic-stricken mayor threw it at her and dived under his desk.

Pearl smiled, and lit the pipe. Popping it in her mouth, she inhaled like it was Rose’s tentabulge.

Dewey was right. It did feel good. So good, in fact, that she laughed. Her laughter sounded funny to her ears, so she laughed some more. Then things went blurry. That was kind of funny, but not really.

“Bill?” she asked in a voice that sounded like it was coming from another room. “I can’t see too good. Is that normal?”

Mayor Dewey broke out into a cold sweat. Between the urine and the constant sweating, he was going to have to get the carpet cleaned soon.

“Um…” he stammered, “n-no, not really…”

“Weeeellll…” Pearl slurred. “I’m not human, yanno? Maaaaybe it works differently for me.”

Dewey nodded. Anything to keep her from blowing up at him again.

Pearl took another hit, and things went back into focus. Then another. The carpet was so soft…

Dewey poked his head out from under the desk when he heard the snuffling sounds. Then he stared.

Steven’s sister was eating the carpet. “HOT DAMN!” she squealed. “Whaddya make this shit out of?”

“Yarn?” ventured Dewey. He wasn’t an expert in carpet manufacturing. There were many things he worried about- his relationship with Buck, keeping the city running, if people would laugh at him for taking his dakimakura out to dinner- but carpets? Never.

“Huh.” Pearl stopped chewing and considered this. “Shit, I can’t feel my face.”

Sweat poured down Dewey’s face. At this rate, he’d be installing that aquarium ahead of schedule. “Uh, Pearl?”

“Yeeeees?” the Gem drawled in a sweet voice.

Dewey chose his next words carefully. “Was your Gem always that big?”

Pearl felt for it. It did seem bigger than usual.

The Gem racked her brains. Being high made thinking hard.

Lessee, it hadn’t overlapped her nose when she came in- no, that wasn’t her gem, but it wasn’t skin either. Felt different. Then it hit her.

“Ah shit,” she sighed. “I’m turning into crystal.”

For the umpteenth time, Dewey hoped and prayed that he was dreaming. But he wasn’t. His dreams usually made more sense than this, anyway.

“Y-y-y-y-” he stammered. “Y-you’re awfully, uh, casual about this.”

Pearl’s eyes flickered. “Well, see-” she buckled forward and collapsed on the ground. “Fuck. Motor skills ’re goin’. Anyway, think I can’t feel emotions any more.  
Fuckin’ rocks musta made my gem go haywire.”

Tears poured down the mayor’s face. The love of his life was dying in front of him, and it was all his fault. “Isn’t there anything I can do?!” he sobbed.

Pearl grinned. “Nah. I’m toast, Bill. Nice knowin’ ya.”

“NOOOOO!” howled the mayor. He crawled on his hands and knees to the dying alien and cradled her in his arms.

“Buck…” she whispered.

“That’s *sob* my son.”

“Whatever. What is it that your kid and his friends say? Begins with a Y.”

Why did she care about that now? “YOLO?” he sniffled.

Pearl’s eyes, or the bits of them that hadn’t turned to crystal, gleamed. “Yeah! YOLO!” She drew her face closer to his. “What I’m sayin’ is, wanna make out?”

In response, Dewey rained kisses on her crystalline lips. Before long, his face was covered in lacerations, but he was beyond caring at this point.

Pearl seemed oddly intrigued as his blood dribbled on her. “D-d-d-do all y-” her face went blank for a moment, then she seemed to recover. “-humans have red-”

“Y-yeff,” replied Dewey.

Pearl laughed weakly. “T-t-that-” Only her lips were left now. “-’s stup-” Then she was gone.

Dewey’s heart broke. “Pearl…” he whispered.

Dropping her body, he clenched his fists. “PEAAAAARL!” he screamed to an uncaring God.

His tears fell like rain on her lifeless body. He held his breath and waited.

One minute… three minutes… five… nope, still dead.

“Oh come ON,” he moaned. “It always works in the movies!”

 _But this isn’t a movie, Bill._  he thought to himself.  _This is real. And you fucked up. Bad._

This was too much. The broken man crawled back to the futon and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

—

The sun had gone down.

That was the first thing Dewey noticed. The second was Pearl, stubbornly insisting on remaining dead. Bitch.

The third? His crack pipe, which had fallen out of her hands at some point. Rage welled up in him.

“If it wasn’t for you,” he screamed at the unassuming object, “she’d still be alive!”

He raised his foot to stomp it into pieces, when a thought popped into his head.

_Why don’t you smoke her?_

“What?” he whispered out loud.

_No, seriously. Why not? She’s a rock, isn’t she?_

Dewey looked at the Gem’s body. Come to think of it, he  _did_  have a geologist’s hammer and chisel in his desk…

—

Ten minutes later, Dewey was having the time of his goddamn life. He didn’t know what Pearl was made of now, but it was some <i>really</i> good shit. He’d never seen the astral plane this colorful before.

The mayor drifted around aimlessly in the beautiful void. Wind from an unknown source rushed through the little hair he had left, ruffling it.  _God_ , he hadn’t felt this good since before-

“Before she died.” he whispered to himself.

That was two women he’d watched die in front of him, unable to help…

Dewey shook his head, heading off the flashback before it started. He’d learned the hard way that drama and crack didn’t mix.

Then he saw someone in the distance.

He never saw other people on the astral plane. Well, there was that one green chick, but she didn’t show up too often. This person? Definitely new.

She had curly black hair, hipster glasses, and was wearing a fetching gray sweater. “Hey!” he called out to her. “Who’re you?”

The woman smiled. “I’m God.”

Sure, why not? Meeting God might be the least implausible thing to happen in the past couple hours.

“So, uh, if you’re God, got any wisdom for me?”

The woman looked downcast. “Well, Bill, you’re-” she took a deep breath. “-going to die in the next, oh, three minutes?”

Well, that sucked. “You sure about that?” the mayor asked. He turned into a purple hippopotamus to show the intensity of his disappointment.

“Positive,” God responded. “Smoking powered Gem is poisonous. Just how dumb are you?”

Hippo-Dewey frowned, a difficult thing to do when you have the wrong number of muscles. “Hey, you don’t make your best decisions when your crush just died in your arms.”

“Hmm.” God rubbed her chin. “Good point. Well, I’ve got some episodes to storyboard, so enjoy the rest of your life!”

She vanished.

“Wow.” Dewey thought for a moment. Dying made it so hard to think straight. “This bites.”

Then he died.


End file.
